


crown me a tomorrow

by inkwelled



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Celebrations, Diplomacy, Engagement, F/F, F/M, Festivals, Kissing, Late Night Conversations, Minor Character Death (Mentioned), Post-Canon, Post-War, Royalty, Sharing a Bed, Sparring, Spears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 05:25:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18685030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inkwelled/pseuds/inkwelled
Summary: You will be his closest partner, defender, and advisor,their father had written in the letter Callum broke the seal to in the bowels of a ship that carried them far from everything they knew and into an uncertain future.The one in Callum's desk drawer, covered in ideas for new spells and sketches of Rayla.Ezran turns, trembling fingers slipping around the polished brass of the circlet that Opeli steps forward holding. There’s an intake of breath in the crowd as he takes it carefully from her hands as if it's a baby bird and the audience slowly realizes what’s happening.





	crown me a tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> this is a BEAST and i'd like to give the s.p.b (stan paula burrows) gc for egging me to write this with our sad callum and royal family feels, especially lately. y'all are amazing and i love you all dearly!
> 
> please please PLEASE give this some love. although it doesn't look like much, it took me a month to write this and i poured so much of myself into it. coincidentally, it's also the first time i've written rayllum explicity - they're the main pair! of course with janaya during certain parts because i'm a sucker for them.
> 
> enjoy!

The stone presses against his bent knee, the heavy folds of the ceremonial cloak falling over his shoulders. The air is thick with anticipation and the whispers of the audience are abuzz in his ears.

Callum bows his head as the king stands, light glinting off the circlet on his forehead.

“Prince Callum,” Ezran says, voice booming in the way it does when he commands a room and forgets he isn't ten anymore. In the decade since the end of the war, the peace between elves and humans, magic and non-magic alike, his baby brother has grown into the uneven brass towers that kiss the top of his brow. “High-Mage of Katolis. My closest partner, defender, and advisor. Lift your head.”

Callum looks up to see Ezran smile. In the spring solstice, he will turn twenty and Callum can already see their father in Ezran’s mannerisms.

It’s so much more than that.

It’s been a decade since their father’s death, the catalyst to every event thereafter. It feels like yesterday that Callum stood tall as the Queen of Dragons towered before him, judgment and vengeance in her eyes.

As they presented the dragon prince to her.

As mother and son were reunited - it wasn't to be for Callum, who returned to Katolis to the knowledge their father was truly gone and Ezran was a child king.

Callum and Rayla returned home to an unprecedented era of peace.

With no will left to fight, both sides laid down their weapons and swore such violence would never be seen by them or their children again. It's that period after the war that promises that are bound to be broken are made but no one cares.

But.

This moment, this place in time is years and years of hard work, of long meetings and late nights and early mornings and trade federation courts and rebuilding from the ground-up a society in which the Breach is a relic of war and nothing more.

One day kids will visit it and gape wide-eyed at the stronghold. They'll learn about the purpose in school but will know nothing first-hand of the war that happened there.

Callum is grateful. If they only know it from passed-on word, all of this would be worth it.

Ezran addresses the crowd. “The queen’s circlet belonged to our mother before her and the queen before that. Long has it sat without person, without someone to bear the title.” His voice dips slightly.

“Choosing the successor to the late, beloved Queen Sarai and my mother was a difficult choice. The crown will not be given by marriage, but by blood.”

The crowd murmurs but Ezran ignores them now, focusing back on the man kneeling before him. On the cusp of twenty-five, Callum is still lanky and book-drawn with studious intent but his shoulders have filled out to match his head, the prince spending many morning hours training alongside his betrothed both in defense and magic.

Primal magic spins around his fingers, glinting off the gold on his middle finger. His hair is shorter but still as messy, and those kind almond eyes speak years in wisdom.

Ezran catches sight of Rayla in the crowd. Her eyes are shining with tears - she was the only one he told when the thought dawned on him and he burst into her and Callum’s chambers with a shout.

“Prince Callum,” Ezran repeats, but both his eyes and voice soften. “My brother. Rise.”

Hesitantly but not frightened, Callum does.

Despite his baby brother being four years his younger, Ezran has more than a few inches on him. Callum holds his sight steady, fingers ticking nervously against the thigh of his archmage robes.

_You will be his closest partner, defender, and advisor,_  their father had written in the letter Callum broke the seal to in the bowels of a ship that carried them far from everything they knew and into an uncertain future.

The one in Callum's desk drawer, covered in ideas for new spells and sketches of Rayla.

Ezran turns, trembling fingers slipping around the polished brass of the circlet that Opeli steps forward holding. There’s an intake of breath in the crowd as he takes it carefully from her hands as if it's a baby bird and the audience slowly realizes what’s happening.

“Prince Callum, Archmage of Katolis, son of the late Queen Sarai,” Ezran says, turning back.

Callum’s eyes are wide, focused only on the circlet in his brother’s hand, the familiar sight of the parallel uneven towers that mark the banners that hang in the great hall they stand in now, the wax seal on letters. The portraits of his mother.

“My brother,” Ezran continues.

He comes to a stop barely two steps from Callum who releases an unsteady, shaky breath.

Ezran’s smile is reassuring and small. “From a young age we both knew you would never bear the kong’s crown, would never inherit the throne our father so desperately wished you could. He fought for you, his son, with all the ferocity and determination he led his people with. Tradition is not so easily broken.”

Callum dips his head in acknowledgment and an ache runs through him at the mention of his father. He hadn't known Harrow's fight for him to have the throne up until the moment Ezran was born and even after.

Opeli, as it seems, knows more than she lets on.

He knows this. Ezran continues.

“The story of our mother’s bravery has been passed down to us by those before. I do not remember her but you do - you hold her memory to your chest and I see her every day in you. So, Prince Callum, do you swear to uphold her morals and protect this kingdom and its subjects as she did?”

A flap of a bird’s wings could be heard.

The audience seems to hold their breath in anticipation - no one dares to breathe to miss a word.

Callum licks his dry lips.

_“I do,”_ he says, the words coming out in almost a whine as he begins to kneel. He clears his throat. "I do," he repeats, voice hoarse and trembling. Ezran’s hand wraps around his older brother’s arm.

"Stand,” he all but whispers. “Mother would’ve wished for you to stand. Stand tall, Callum.”

He can do nothing but nod, tongue like dust in his mouth.

The circlet feels foreign against his skin. The metal is cold except where Ezran’s fingers have touched it, wrapped around it lovingly. It settles on the middle of his forehead, both the feeling of coming home and the beginning of a new era.

Callum doesn’t look away from his baby brother the entire time. Ezran’s eyes are glistening as he nestles their mother’s circlet into Callum’s brown hair and Callum can see the strength there, the tenacity of a little boy growing up in the middle of a war.

“In Sarai’s honor!” Ezran cries.

With jubilation, the kingdom echoes it back. The moment is broken but Callum cares not - with a murmured sob, he sweeps Ezran into his arms.

The kingdom of Katolis does not quite understand but with time, most certainly will. They dance long into the night, torches burning low, tell stories of the late queen and her kind eyes and iron will - her sons, her joy and pride.

Their future.

“Thank you,” Callum sobs into Ezran’s ear as they stand there, his mother’s circlet newly his own.

Perhaps it’s fantasy or want, but Callum feels as if he’s closer to her, somehow. That perhaps she's watching over them, from wherever she is. That perhaps their father is there too, and they'll be there one day waiting for them.

That day is not today. Today is a celebration, their futures vast and wide before them.

They will see their parents again.

Ezran’s chuckle is shaky as the kingdom continues to rejoice around them. “Mom would've wanted you to have it. And it wasn’t entirely my idea, y'know - Rayla helped.“

They both turn from their embrace to see Rayla in the crowd.

Despite being Prince Callum’s betrothed and a lady of the court for more than a decade, she still refuses to wear skirts unless required. But today she's in a fine gown and Ezran knows that it's in support of her fiancé.

The kingdom celebrates around her as she nods demurely, eyes shining. Callum’s crying again as he extends a hand to her and Rayla’s face breaks into a teary smile.

She all but runs into Callum's waiting arms. Ezran nods, meaning to step back and give them a minute but Callum's hand wraps around his wrist.

"Stay, _please,_ Ez."

Ezran's voice cracks. "Of course."

“I love you both,” Callum weeps. Rayla presses her fingers to the circlet on his forehead before resting her own forehead against his as she draws Ezran into a hug. He closes his eyes, letting his own circlet press into her shoulder and can feel the sharp coolness of her skin through the layers of fabric.

The sides of the uneven towers press into his skin and Callum closes his eyes.

“In Sarai’s honor,” Rayla murmurs. Ezran’s hand is solid and warm and reassuring on Callum's shoulder.

When Rayla presses her lips to his, the kingdom cheers. Ezran steps away with a smile and Callum’s arm comes around his betrothed’s waist as her four fingers splay over his heart and across his jawline.

“Thank you,” he whispers tearily.

Rayla sighs, content, her hand coming to cup his cheek as she dashes away the salt on his face with her thumb.

“No tears today, sad prince,” she says, equally as softly and his hand covers hers on his cheek. When Callum moves her palm to his mouth, pressing reverent kisses over her knuckles and the tips of her fingers, her smile is absolutely radiant.

Ezran's smile grows. His brother has always loved Rayla's hands - the four fingers, the callouses on her palms from her twin blades, the dexterity of her hands in every task she takes on with a determined grin.

Their marriage is for political gain, arranged, but not fake, never fake.

_"A final nail in the coffin of war,"_ Rayla calls it during a meeting where her four appendages are tangled with his five beneath the table.

They are the ones who propose it.

Without warning, the two of them are swept into an embrace and Ezran chokes on his tears with a chuckle. Their aunt's face is lit up entirely and though Gren trails behind her, he's just as giddy.

Rayla wheezes. "Aunt Amaya! Good to see you too!"

As she sets her nephew and his betrothed back down, Ezran can see the way Amaya's eyes sweep across the stage until they find him. He can pinpoint the exact moment her eyes meet his because he's fleeing into her waiting arms.

Faintly, he can hear Gren congratulating Callum, expressing his apologies that Amaya's wife could not join them - the war is over but negotiations continue and Janai has her own arrangements.

She sends her well-wishes though. Ezran catches the mention of the present Amaya has brought along and buries his face in Amaya's shoulder because he knows what it is.

Ezran hugs his aunt back as hard as she does he and closes his eyes.

All noise fades into the background.

Amaya is just as warm and solid as he remembers and although it is odd to hug her without the sharp edges of her armor biting into his skin, rather layers of leather and cloth, he relishes in it.

_Thank you,_  Amaya mouths into his shoulder where she's lifted him. It should be impossible, but somehow despite his obvious towering over her, she's lifted him off his feet.

Ezran pulls back from the embrace just enough that he can sign. _It's what she would have wanted,_ he says, sparing a glance at Callum. His older brother seems to glow in the light of the afternoon, the brass circlet on his head and the gold band on his finger. _It was the least I could do._

_I wish you could have known her,_ Amaya signs back, face falling.

Ezran shakes his head, smiling, signing before pulling her back in.

_I did know her. You helped me know her, Aunt Amaya. She lives on in Callum but she lives on in you too. She would be proud of you._

Ezran doesn't comment on how Amaya's body wilts and melts into his - the jerk of her shoulders when she sobs for a single time before pulling back. Her eyes are red but her shoulders are set, strong.

She's the ever-present rock in the storm.

In the years since the war's end, time has been good to her.

Without the stress of combat day in and day out, the scar beneath her eye from that fateful day has calmed - it's a pale, puckered pink instead of a fiery red, no longer irritated by smoke and disagreement. The lines around her eyes are more from laughter than strife and he can see where she's starting to grow her hair back out again.

Healing is different, for all of them.

He knows her wife helps - letters from Janai and Amaya's dwelling on either side of the border that they're slowly tearing down come often and Ezran loves to sit in candlelight late at night and read them. Amaya's scrawling chicken scratch that so closely resembles Callum's is intersected by Janai's neat letters marching against the parchment.

At the bottom of the letter, Janai's handwriting always dwindles as Amaya tells of the work they're doing, quiet confessions of how she feels they're not doing enough.

Time has been good but so, so hard on all of them.

Amaya's smile reminds him of the portrait at his bedside.

_You are a fine king, your father's son,_ she signs. _Your mother would be proud of you too, proud of the young man you've become. You look so much like her._

The Great Hall is all but empty now, the people milling about only a few guards and the servants who are bustling to accommodate the festivities.

It is a day of celebration, after all.

Ezran can see Soren talking to two Lieutenants in the corner, the dark blue of his cape and helmet tucked beneath his arm - along with walking stick he now carries around permanently, like his limp - signaling his position as Commander of the Crown Guard.

He knows that somewhere around here will be Claudia, never quite straying far from her brother's side anymore.

War has changed them all.

Some for the best, he thinks as he looks at Rayla and Callum's intertwined hands, the smile in Amaya's eyes, the peace in Gren's.

Some, he thinks, for the worst, as he remembers Viren's execution.

Callum leans his head against Rayla's shoulder as he smiles at something she's said, infatuated even all these years later yet weeks before their marriage. The Moonshadow elf has long surpassed him in height and although Callum bellyaches - quite loudly, mostly - about it, Ezran knows he secretly loves his betrothed's height.

Ezran wipes away his tears, approaches the group with Amaya by his side. Gren greets him warmly and he returns it, clapping Callum on the shoulder.

"You heard Rayla! No tears, sad prince. This is a day of celebration!"

Amaya's smile is knowing.

He watches Callum and Rayla dance the night away, barefoot and laughing in the middle of the town square. Rayla's skirts flutter around Callum's legs as they dance, mouths stretched wide and eyes sparkling under the torches they light when the sun dips below the skyline.

They've taught each other to dance over the years, Callum's two left feet meeting Rayla's right and somehow making it perfect. Balancing the other, even in the most minute of tasks.

Rayla's hair is down from her braid, wavy and ivory beneath the firelight. Even before the sun sets they're both spinning around each other and the square in circles, pressed close with hands woven or spread out and dancing with the villagers.

Everyone's smiling.

The festival doesn't wind down until late in the evening when the fireflies have come out and the torches burn low in their wicks. Yawning children are scooped up by softly-chiding parents and returned to their beds inside dark houses. Guards clear away the torches after putting them out and the maids distribute the food not eaten from the banquet table.

Both Ezran and Amaya chuckle at the sight of Rayla pulling Callum back towards the castle, flower crown hooped around one of her horns from a little girl she had danced with.

Callum has a matching one, similarly crooked.

_They didn't even say goodnight,_  Amaya signs, pretending to sigh.

Ezran laughs as his aunt and he start their own trek back through the gates to the castle. _You'll see them in the morning._

For a minute, Amaya doesn't say anything.

_Do you think it's the right decision? Bringing-_

Ezran stops to face his aunt. _Yes,_ he signs forcefully, _I do. But it's your decision. You're not letting go of her, you're passing her on. She'll always be with us._

_You're just like your mother,_ Amaya signs and he doesn't miss how she tears up but doesn't mention it. _Sarai would be proud._

_Let's go home,_  Ezran signs before linking his arm through his aunt's.

The rest of the walk is silent and he wishes Amaya a good night before retiring to his own quarters. As he pads around his room, he pauses at his vanity and for a moment, simply looks at his own reflection.

_Like your mother,_  Amaya's fingers repeat in his head.

Ezran smiles. After he climbs into bed and right before he blows out the candle at his bedside, the brass towers of his father glow in the light.

Callum and Rayla don't go directly back to their quarters.

Rayla pulls him through the garden before they retire; her four toes sinking into the damp soil. They both hold their shoes and the other's hand in the other and Callum admires how the moonlight bathes Rayla's face in clear beams.

“I am only sorry you do not get one as well,” Callum says later when they are in bed, stripped only to their night personals and Rayla traces the edged tip of his circlet, reminiscent of his mother’s favored weapon. “She would have loved you.”

Rayla pulls him close.

“I would have been honored to meet her,” she murmurs as Callum lays his head on her breastbone. “She was a fine, strong queen. You're like her.”

Her heart beats truthfully beneath his ear and Callum presses a chaste kiss to her lips when he props himself up on his elbows.

“You would make a fine queen as well.”

Carding her fingers through his hair, Rayla chuckles. “I am stubborn and cannot sit still. I prefer children to adults when it comes to negotiation, would rather wield my blades than diplomatic words, unlike you. I would not make a good queen, one that would honor your mother’s memory.”

Callum slips from her grasp as he sits back on his knees.

“May I?” he murmurs and Rayla raises an eyebrow as he removes the circlet from his head.

“Callum-“

He looks at her longingly. _“Please,”_ he whispers beggingly and she closes her mouth, smiles softly.

“Alright.”

She sits up as well, until their mouths are even.

The circlet is heavy upon her brow. Despite the fear of the metal being caught on one of her horns - them having grown with age and now rapidly coming to rival both of her uncles' - Callum settles it with ease upon her silver hair. Secretly, he loves drawing her horns most, more than Runaan's or Tinker's when they visit.

“My mother was as stubborn as she was kind,” Callum murmurs, interlacing their fingers as he leans forward to kiss the space between her eyes.

Rayla watches because she finds she can't and won't look away.

"She held justice in one hand and compassion in the other - a two-bladed spear in one fist and her heart upon her sleeve. In the eyes of the people she was nothing more than a lady of a noble house turned General of the Crown Guard, where she met my father. But before she was Queen, before she was beloved - she was my mother.”

Callum’s voice catches. Rayla squeezes his hand in silent support and with a smile, he squeezes back before continuing.

“He saw her when no one else did - took her in respectfully and wholly. Her, the daughter of a lesser house, ridiculed and shunned for an illegitimate birth of a bastard son. Harrow didn’t care. He made her his queen and she took all that hurt and made it into her armor.”

Rayla’s hand comes to cup his cheek and Callum leans into the touch.

“She was kind,” he whispers, “and fair and strong and wise.”

“Your mother is the strongest person I know and I know she would be proud of you and Ezran and everything you've done,” Rayla murmurs back and draws him close again. “But I do wish to understand, Callum. I do not deserve this crown, nor is it mine. You know as well as I that it never will be. I will never be queen and I wouldn't want to be.”

Callum’s eyes soften.

“You are her successor,” he says, so softly it slips between her ribs and brings tears to her eyes. “in all the ways except the fact you do not have a title beyond Princess Regent and Lady. You are not queen but you're like her in so many ways.”

"You are her successor," Rayla whispers as she slips off her crown and holds it in her hands. She kisses the top of both slanted towers before slotting it back onto his temple.

"She would be proud of you Callum, for everything you've done."

Callum closes his eyes briefly as she slides the circlet back into place. Then he's leaning in to kiss her ever so softly, quiet vindication in his voice when he speaks but it makes it no difference for the

"Of everything we've done."

Rayla laughs tearily and kisses him then, rolling them until she’s straddling his hips, leaning down to kiss him. Both of Callum’s hands are cupping her cheeks and he peppers her face in kisses when she pulls back.

He lathes his affection over the dark purple marks beneath her eyes, the freckles that faintly paint her pale cheeks and across her nose.

She kisses the skin between the uneven towers in retaliation.

His smile is as luminous as the moon outside the window.

“You are my queen,” he says simply and Rayla’s palm splays against his heart as he looks up at her like she's the sun and the moon and hung every star in the sky herself. “and as I promised to honor my mother’s memory, I promise to cherish you. Whether you choose to wear this or not.”

Her lips are his answer.

They fall into their nightly routine after that - his robes draped over the vanity's chair back, Rayla unraveling her hair from the braids, their elbows bumping as they washed their faces in the basin.

It's much later before Callum says anything.

"A champion of love and justice."

Rayla, floating somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, props her chin on Callum's shoulder from where their knees slot into each other's. "Huh?"

"My mother once called Harrow that - a champion of love and justice. I can't stop thinking about it."

"Who told you that?" Rayla asks as she scoots impossibly closer, arm tightening around her betrothed's waist. Callum's breath as he chuckles weakly ruffles the blanket.

"Opeli."

With a hum, Rayla pulls them both upright until they're sitting in bed rather than laying. She smooths her thumb over where the circlet pressed into his skin.

"Why are you thinking that?"

Callum shrugs simply, dropping his temple onto her shoulder. Her four fingers card through his messy flop of brown hair. "I don't know," he says quietly. "But Ezran today looked so much like our father this morning. I saw it when he stood before me and pulled me to my feet."

"He is a wise king," Rayla says, ever-so scratching his scalp with her fingernails. "As was your father."

"A servant king is what Viren called him. Ezran is a servant king as he was, but I'm scared Rayla. That got our father killed - he was wise, but he was also foolish. He made mistakes, so many mistakes."

Rayla nods. "Everyone does. Ezran knows what he's doing. He has you, me, and your aunt. He's grown so much in so little time."

"I know."

"Bedtime," Rayla says then, drawing him back into the sheets. Callum's movements are automatic as he slots his head into her breastbone, pillowed between her neck and shoulder and breathing in the scent of his betrothed.

"I love you."

The lamps are already dimmed but Callum doesn't need to see Rayla's face to know she's smiling.

"I love you too, Callum."

* * *

A knock wakes him.

Callum blinks awake blearily, brain trying to catch up with his eyes as he registers the sunlight gleaming through the window and blinding him for a second.

The knock comes again, more insistent this time.

He stumbles out of bed after slipping from Rayla's grasp. In her sleep, she becomes an octopus, wrapping around him like a lifeline.

As he buttons up a shirt so he's at least decent for company, he drops a kiss to her cheek and smiles at how her nose wrinkles. "Someone's at the door," he murmurs. "I'll get it."

The unintelligible mutter that answers him before Rayla rolls over makes Callum chuckle.

"Good talk."

Again the knock comes and Callum straightens. "I'm coming, I'm coming," he sighs, rolling his eyes as he crosses the room and pulls open the door. "And please be quiet, Lady Rayla is still-"

Amaya stands outside, knuckles lifted to knock again and a sly smile on her face.

Callum feels his face burn. "Oh. Hi, Aunt Amaya."

_You're sharing a bed with your betrothed? What would your mother think._

The blush reddens and he rubs the back of his head. Amaya's smirk grows as he stutters over his words as he slips out of his chambers and closes the door behind him. "N-nothing happened, Aunt Amaya. Her quarters are connected to mine, we're going to be married."

His aunt's face softens into a teasing smile. _I know. You're easy to fluster._

Callum rolls his eyes but he's smiling, too. He switches to sign language as Amaya turns to walk away, obviously expecting him to follow.

_What's going on? Something wrong?_

Amaya's face doesn't budge as she moves through the corridors, further away from Callum's chambers.

_Nothing. Follow me._

Without another word, knowing she wouldn't answer him anyway, Callum follows. They wind through another corridor, the guards saluting to Amaya and bowing to Callum before he waves them off.

He hates being bowed to.

They come to a halt before one of the guest quarters. Callum guesses it's Amaya chambers.

_I never gave you your coronation and engagement present,_ Amaya signs before pushing open her door and moving into the chamber. _I apologize for my lateness._

Callum's eyebrows knit as he walks in after her and halts near the bed. Constant as ever, the bed is made and every part of the room is spotless. He knows that despite her back being turned, she can catch the movement of his hands.

_It's fine, Aunt Amaya. I didn't expect a coronation or engagement present._

She roots through something on the other side of the bed and her hand raises to wave off his words. When Amaya turns around, hands behind her back, she's smiling but there's something sad there.

Callum takes a step forward. _Aunt Amaya?_

_It's proper to offer the couple a present. I'm only sorry I didn't do this sooner. You deserved to see it._

His eyebrows knit further as he looks at whatever's wrapped behind Amaya's back, whatever it is extending far past her head. _Amaya?_

She holds it out and his breath catches.

He doesn't have to unwrap it to know exactly what it is.

Callum's seen his mother's spear in portraits, has penciled it many times in his sketchbook, has heard stories from Harrow and Opeli and Viren - before his execution, that is - and Amaya herself.

He never thought he would see it.

Callum reaches out a shaky hand in one movement and snatches it back in the next. He takes a step back, breath trembling in his chest, hand against his chest.

"I can't take this," he says hoarsely. "I thought it was destroyed, Aunt Amaya. Don't do this. I don't deserve it."

With every step he takes back, Amaya follows. Her eyes are soft with grief and he watches as a few individual tears drip down her cheeks as she walks forward to meet him.

Callum's knees feel like they're about to give out underneath him.

_I didn't know how to give it to you,_ Amaya signs. _And for a long time, I didn't want to. She wanted you to have it, I know it, but I didn't want to let go of her._

"Then don't," Callum says shakily as Amaya takes another step towards him. He wraps a hand around the bedpost to steady himself. "You don't have to, Aunt Amaya. She was your sister. You keep it."

_It's rightfully yours,_ she signs before presenting it to him again.

This time, he takes it.

When his right hand closes around the shaft of the spear, Callum swears for a split second he can hear Sarai's laugh, can see her eyes as she wrapped him in a hug when he had nightmares and climbed into bed with her.

It's gone in a split second, though, and Callum's other hand reaches out.

He knows he's roughly Sarai's height, maybe a little taller (if he's being generous) but the spear towers over his head. Although it extends far past his head, it's balanced in his hand.

The weapon of a queen.

He looks up to see Amaya crying as she watches him turn it over in his hands. Callum props it against the bed and pulls his aunt into his arms. They both break.

It's just a spear, just the same uneven slanted towers on his forehead at the end of a shaft, a beautiful burgundy and tipped with gold and brass, but it's so much more than that.

Amaya's body shakes in his arms and somewhere along the way, they've slid to the ground. Cobblestones press into his knees as he kneels and clings to his aunt as she clings to him.

The gold tipped towers shine in the afternoon light when Amaya's body finally stops trembling in his arms and Callum's tears dry stiff to his cheeks. They both stand on shaky legs and for a moment, just admire the spear in the light.

Both feel unworthy in that moment.

Callum reaches for it though and runs his hand along the shaft. He looks up to see Amaya close to tears again.

_If you want, I could train you-_

She doesn't finish before Callum launches himself into her arms, crying again, spear still in hand. As much as he can with one hand, he pulls his aunt close and sobs.

Amaya doesn't cry again but stands strong. Callum's always admired her for that.

He pulls back. _I'd like that._

His aunt's smile is absolutely radiant.

_I can't think of anyone else I would trust to train me,_ Callum signs as they step back from the hug and Amaya's hand comes atop his on the spear when he lifts it to bring it vertical.

She jerks her head at the door and without saying a thing, Callum nods.

Amaya's smile, somehow, widens and Callum doesn't care he's in thin trousers and a mostly-unbuttoned tunic. All that matters is in his hand, very literally a missing piece of his mother's past. Hopping, he pulls on his shoes.

He follows Amaya to the training grounds.

* * *

Rayla turns over with a groan and when her arm flops down on the blanket and not the sleeping form of her betrothed, she raises her head. She blinks a few times and feels around in the comforter but Callum is nowhere to be seen.

"Call'm?"

Her voice is scratchy with sleep, his name mumbled into the pillow but when he doesn't answer, her eyebrows furrow.

She squeezes her eyes shut and remembers the knock at the door and Callum's kiss on her forehead. He had mumbled something she didn't catch before sleep pulled at her again and she gave into it.

Now Rayla wishes she listened further before rolling over and surrendering to her exhaustion from the night before, feet aching from the cobblestones she danced about.

She's never been one to sleep in until past the sunrise. Peace has made her soft.

Rayla revels in it as she sits up, rolling her tongue around her mouth rubbing at her eyes for a moment before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. Yawning, she surveys the room for her betrothed but he's nowhere to be found.

Callum's drawers are open and his shirt from the back of the chair is gone.

Something like panic sets in as she realizes Callum would never tend to a matter without dressing properly. Before she realizes it, Rayla's out of bed and stumbling into her own room, grabbing a robe and wrestling it over her head. She curses at it catches on her horns before tugging it down.

Grabbing blindly, she wrenches the door open and takes off down the hall-

"Come on!" a guard says excitedly as Rayla turns the corner and stops dead. Two more soldiers hurry after the one talking animatedly. "General Amaya and the prince are sparring on the grounds!"

Rayla blinks but follows, knotting the ties of the dressing gown around her and she's shoving down the urge to yawn again when the grounds come into view from the second level. For a moment, the sunlight blinds her but a hand comes up to block it as a cheer echoes in her ear.

The clash of metal follows closely and the sounds of two people fighting. Rayla slips between the guards and when her hands plant themselves on the railing of the second level of Katolis level, overlooking the training grounds, she gasps.

Queen Sarai's spear was a powerful weapon in her hands. Although she's never met Callum and Ezran's mother - her demise long before Rayla would meet either one of them on that fateful full-mooned night - she knows of it. Around the castle, there's portraits Rayla's seen of the late queen and her weapon, has visited Sarai's grave with Callum and saw the shaft in one hand and the other extending in kindness, forever immortalized in marble.

Below her on the training grounds, Callum grips the shaft of the spear and parries his aunt's attack. She can how he stumbles slightly as he's thrown off-balance but rights quickly, coming to swipe at Amaya's own spear before being forced back.

The two spearheads meet and around her, the guards cheer again. It's not until another attack comes that Rayla realizes she's cheering too, whooping Callum's name and pumping her fist in the air.

She can pinpoint the exact point Callum hears her voice over the dim because his eyes flash to hers, smiling and Rayla finds herself smiling too-

A second later he's on his back in the dirt, coughing, as Amaya's spear levels with his chin.

Blinking with surprise, the guards around him burst into well-meaning laughter and Callum chuckles after a moment as his chest heaves with exertion. Rayla watches as Amaya spins the shaft in her hand, planting the spearhead in the dirt before offering a hand.

Callum's hand wraps around the shaft of Sarai's spear before taking his aunt's help. With not even a grunt, General Amaya hauls Prince Callum to his feet and signs something Rayla can't see with her back in the way.

She doesn't miss how Callum's face splits into a wide smile.

_Thank you, Aunt Amaya,_  he signs back and pulls her into a hug.

A second later his eyes flit up to her again, surrounded by laughing guards that already are starting to dissipate to get back to patrols, ribbing each other about bets on the fight and shaking their heads at the antics of their General and Prince. But Rayla stays planted like a tree, hands on the balcony until Callum mouths "I love you" and Rayla's hands come up to respond in time.

Callum's eyes glisten as he pulls back and has a short conversation with Amaya until he's planting his own spear in the dirt and running off the grounds right beneath where she is. Laughing, Rayla turns as his boots stomp against the stairs and she catches him in a hug as he slams into her.

Their chests press together for a moment and despite the dirt on his undershirt, Rayla holds him close and breathes in the smell of the love of her life.

"I love you," Callum murmurs into her hair as his arms come around her waist and suddenly she's in the air. Yelping, her fingers dig into his arms and he's laughing and she is too, right until she dips her head to press a kiss to his open mouth.

Callum responds in time. He tastes like sweat and dirt and the ever-present lingering of hot brown morning potion he seems to love so much, Claudia's creation.

"I love you," she gasps when she pulls back just enough that their noses still touch but she breathes in heavy pants. Callum's forehead rests against her own and she imagines the brass towers on his brow, the spear in his hand. "Your mother would be so proud of you, Callum. As am I."

When Callum pulls back enough to search her face, Rayla simply smiles and meets him halfway when he leans back in.

In the dirt beneath them, the shaft of the late Queen Sarai's spear glitters in the early afternoon light and later that day, it does the same to the circlet that settles on his temple.

**Author's Note:**

> come yell at me on my twitter (cinnamnym) about rayllum and family feels anytime you want bc i'm ALWAYS yodeling


End file.
